


Normal Knees

by Liara_90



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: And This is My Reasoning Why, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Inspired by Fanfiction, One Shot, POV Third Person, Post-Mass Effect 3, Samantha Traynor is the Best Character in Mass Effect, Self-Esteem Issues, Shepard Survives, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: In the years after the Battle of Earth, Shepard and Traynor are happily coupled, Sam following Jane as the (retired) Commander crisscrosses the galaxy on a goodwill tour.And then Shepard walked in on Sam, crying in the bathroom.





	Normal Knees

**Author's Note:**

> _Massively_ inspired by _[Queen’s Gambit Accepted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/821407)_ by [fahRENheit2006](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FahRENheit2006/pseuds/Ren) (but does not adhere rigidly to the exact character interpretation therein). An earlier draft was [posted on Tumblr](http://pvoberstein.tumblr.com/post/159023438528/normal-knees-complete-draft-1-wip-mass) on March 31, 2017.

Sam was alone in the bathroom, the door ajar, the sound of water pouring from the faucet drowning any noises that might have escaped her. And from just the sliver of a view afforded by the angle of the door, Shepard could tell that something was off. Sam’s back was hunched over the sink, her hands were clutching the rim, her whole body seemed to heave at an irregular staccato…

And Sam wasn’t the type of person who left doors to bathrooms ajar.

Shepard’s knuckles rasped against the frame, causing the door to swing inwards slightly on its perfectly-balanced hinges. “Sam?” She wasn’t sure if Traynor had heard her, but Shepard took a few shuffling steps forward regardless, arms falling loosely to her sides as she moved.

Samantha was crying.

The realization of that fact caused something sharp and clawing to tear at Shepard’s heart. Of course she’d known Samantha was crying, at least on some subconscious level, but Shepard had managed to delude herself into thinking that _something else_ might have been happening. At least until she heard Sam’s cries. They were quiet, far closer to whimpers than shrieks, but that had always been Samantha’s way. As stiff and upper lip as she could muster.

Sam finally glanced over her shoulder as Shepard approached ‘looming’ distance, straightening upright in a mix of surprise and regret. She looked Shepard in the eye long enough for the tears to begin flowing anew, before hurriedly refocusing her attention on the sink, back turned.

“Oh, _bloody_ … I’m sorry, Jane, I’m just a mess right now,” Sam stammered out, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of running water. She wasn’t doing anything with the water, Shepard distantly noted, just letting it splash and pool and drain.

“Hey, Sam… _Sam_ …” Shepard reached out, cautiously, placing one hand firmly on Traynor’s bare shoulder. Sam didn’t flinch at her touch, which was a small mercy, but seemed to take no comfort in it either. “Talk to me.”

The words came easily to (Ret.) Commander Jane Shepard, a tone of voice that was such an effortless mix of friendship and authority. Everyone knew the stories about how Shepard head-butted her way to diplomatic victory with the Krogans, how she could shout, threaten and bluff her way to any outcome she desired. A lot fewer docu-dramas captured how much she could pry out with a soft tone and a gentle smile…

… _Most_ times, anyways. When Samantha turned to face her again there was still _distress_ in her expression, deeper than the fleeting moments of shock, surprise and discomfort that were part-and-parcel for her life. Sam just shook her head, weary and distraught. “I’m sorry, Jane, I didn’t mean to… to… to ruin your party.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Shepard’s mind. She’d attended literally countless parties since the Battle of Earth, since her recovery, her 'victory tour’ and her honorable discharge. Tonight’s schedule was yet another of the same variety, a gala celebrating something for some cause at the behest of some bigwig. That Shepard remembered what planet she was on was triumph enough. She’d already given her stump speech - she had it down to practically a science at this point - and she was long past caring if anyone noted her disappearance.

“Garrus has enough war stories to keep 'em busy for a while,” Shepard reassured her, sliding up next to Samantha’s spot by the sink. Traynor’s head rose, but her expression suggested she didn’t like what she saw in the mirror. Before Shepard could blink Sam’s expression had morphed into something _angry_ , Traynor _slamming_ the taps shut with as much force as she could muster.

“ _Of course_ I can’t even manage some bloody _mascara_ without making a complete and utter _arse_ of myself,” Sam _snarled_ , wiping her face with the palm of her hand. Sure enough, Sam’s tears had created elongated streaks of black over her cheeks, her mascara leaving inky lines and black-rimmed eyes. Traynor had never been much for makeup, Shepard knew, and the little black dress she was wearing was still an odd sight to Shepard’s eye.

“Sam: don’t worry about it,” Shepard half-said, half-ordered, doing her best to tear her girlfriend’s eyes from the mirror. “If you want, I’ve got a make-up kit at coat-check, we can try to clean things up. Or just leave, if you feel like it.”

Shepard knew she was _kind of_ side-stepping the problem here, but a circuitous route was sometimes the best one. Or so she told herself, at any rate. Give Sam the time she needed to get her thoughts together, get ready to talk about whatever it was that-

“- I’m not good enough for you.”

Sam’s words hit Shepard like an upper-cut, stunning to silence a woman who’d died twice.

“…Sam, I love you, but you’re not making any sense-”

Traynor shook her head, black hairs falling out of place with the motion. “No, Jane, I'm… it actually _really_ does make sense.” Sam rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “You told me that Liara took a fancy to you from the moment she saw you. Made passes at you. That she probably _still_ has The Galaxy’s Biggest Crush on you.”

Shepard shook her head. “Sam, really, if this is about some five-year old bit of infatuation, you don’t have to worry. Spectre's honor.”

“Liara’s a galaxy-renknowned scholar in like _six_ different fields. She’s as big a war hero as you, Jane. She’s rich and she’s powerful and beautiful and she won the bloody Nobel Prize _twice_.”

Shepard tried to dismiss that with a shrug, as impressive a CV as it was. “I like Liara and, _yes_ , she’s a bit of a looker, and a bit of an over-achiever. But that doesn’t matter, Sam. I want _you_.”

In a romance flick of the variety Shepard was known to guiltily indulge in on rainy nights, that was the moment Traynor would’ve sniffled away her tears and thrown herself at Shepard, heart melted, lips pursed.

Reality, unfortunately, was a lot less cliché.

“You’re missing the point,” Sam bit back, Shepard’s words obviously having had 0% of their intended effect. “Garrus Vakarian. Twice awarded the Hero of the Turian People. Olympic Gold marksman. Galaxy’s Sexiest Turian three years in a row.” Shepard’s arms folded across her chest, giving Samantha the time to speak. “Could you have had him, if you wanted to?”

It wasn’t a hard question. Back on the _Normandy_ , both the SR-1 and far more the SR-2. He’d been available. Flirty. _Tempting_. An offer of stress-relief that Shepard had come oh-so-close to taking him up on, oh-so-many times. “…Yes.”

Sam was nodding like Shepard was proving her point for her. “You could be with _anyone_ , Jane, isn’t it obvious? The smartest and the wealthiest and the prettiest people in the galaxy are _lining up_ to buy you dinner. How on Earth am I supposed to compete with that?”

“ _Sam_.” A note of irritation crept into Shepard’s voice. “You’re not supposed to compete with them because my love is not determinedby a _fucking a beauty pageant_.”

“But it _should_ be,” Sam shot back, voice rising in volume. “Well not a _literal_ beauty pageant, obviously, but someone with talents and character and _presence_ to actually offer you something.” Sam’s palm slammed the sink. “I’m, _what_ , an over-educated post-doc who’s probably going to end up a glorified IT nerd for the rest of her life.”

“A PhD is nothing to scoff at, Sam,” Shepard replied, her temper cooling by a few degrees.

“I know it’s not, Jane,” agreed Sam, her voice quieting in turn. “But you could be dating people who are, I don’t know, redefining our fundamental understanding of mathematics, or something. I don’t want you to settle on mediocre because I happen to already be here. You should be dating the bloody _bees knees_ , Jane!”

In theory there was something sweet and heartfelt in Sam’s words, a desire to see her love as happy as humanly possibly. But it was lost in the sorrow she’d resigned herself to.

Surprise flickered through Sam as she heard Shepard _chuckling_ to herself. “You really don’t see it, do you?” Sam turned back to face Jane, eyes puffy from tears and black from makeup. “What I see in you?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe you think I’m cute. Or you have a weakness for an RP accent. Or geeky girls with asthma. What I’m telling you, Jane, is that _none of that’s special_. It’s just… average. There’s someone out there who’s everything I am and bloody well _clones dinosaurs_ on weekends. And I _guarantee_ they’d love to date the Savior of Earth.”

The short speech seemed to take the fight out of her. Sam slumped against the wall, sliding down until she was resting on a floor of polished marble, belatedly pushing a bit of her dress down between her knees. Shepard grinned a little, and joined Sam on the ground a moment later.

Shepard wasn’t wearing a dress, unlike Sam, having grown into the look of dress pants and a jacket. It suited the persona of a serious-ex-soldier better than a gown on most nights…

“You’re looking very handsome today,” Sam murmured, still not looking Shepard in the eye.

_…And (most importantly), Samantha liked the look._

“Maybe you’re right, Sam,” said Shepard. “Maybe you really are nothing special. Just a cute nerd who happened to be near me when I was busy saving the galaxy again.” Sam didn’t disagree with her - _couldn’t_ , really, not when it was the exact same argument she’d been making _ad nauseum_. But she drew her knees closer to her chest all the same. “Oh well.”

Shepard’s hand found Sam’s knee and shook it, gently. Tears were welling in her girlfriend’s eyes, but the former Comms Specialist made no move to wipe them.

“Still good to give that presentation on the Relay Buoy Communications Web tomorrow?”

Sam _sniffled_ , loudly. “Yes, Jane, I can still do it.”

Shepard nodded to herself. “Good. And Admiral Hackett needs someone to brief him on status of the QEC grid in the Perseus Veil. He’ll ping your IP tomorrow, if that works?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and the Reaper War Oral History project re-scheduled that pre-interview interview they wanted to do with you for 1700 hours. That time still work?”

“Yeah, Jane, I'll be ready.” Sam’s voice was raspy and raw, but she forced the words out all the same.

“Oh, and Sam?” Shepard managed to put just enough genuine _questioning_ into her tone that Traynor’s head tilted. Just enough that Shepard’s fingers could slip around her chin, tilting it upwards. “See it now?”

“I really don’t, Jane,” Sam answered, wearily.

Shepard let her hand slip from Sam’s jaw. “Because you _keep moving forward_ , Sam, no matter what. And here’s the best part: you really _are_ normal. You’re right. But that somehow makes it so much more _badass_ when you refuse to break down.”

There was genuine _excitement_ in Shepard’s voice, so much that Samantha couldn’t help be perked up. At least a little. “Jane?”

“You think anyone would bat an eye if you announced you were taking some cushy teaching gig? Of course not. They’d say, ’ _Well, Traynor’s been through a lot, she’s earned a nice retirement_ ’. But here you are, following me from one end of the galaxy to the next. I know it’s not glamorous work, like running-and-gunning is. And I know it’s not easy.” Shepard’s hand squeezed Samantha’s shoulder. “But you’re still here.”

Sam _sniffled_ at that.

“Honestly, Garrus didn’t think you’d stick around on the SR-2, y'know. Was sure you’d transfer out as soon as we got to a real Alliance base.”

“That bony little bastard,” muttered Samantha, mostly to herself.

“I didn’t think he was that far off the mark,” Shepard said, speaking slowly and softly. “God knows the _Normandy_ wasn’t for everyone. You remember what the burnout rate on the lower decks was, Sam?”

“Something… _very high_ ,” Sam answered, her voice still a murmur on the edge of audibility. That rate was a mix of the _Normandy_ ’s shockingly-high casualty figures and the overwhelming exhaustion that crept in leaping from one crisis to another for _week_ after _week_.

“Yeah. Morale in those days was… not great.” Shepard shook Traynor’s knee again. “I thought you’d transfer out, or _be_ transferred out, and some genius savant comm guru would take your place. Someone who speaks like thirty languages and needs ten minutes of sleep a day.”

“Someone like Miranda Lawson,” Sam ventured, “or Doctor Solus.”

Shepard nodded, a flicker of remorse passing across her eyes. “Someone like them, maybe. The kind of person you think I’m _supposed_ to be in love with.”

“Jane, listen, I’m sorry…”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Shepard slid an arm around Sam’s shoulder, drawing her close. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Samantha was still crying, but Shepard was _pretty_ sure they were no longer tears of sorrow…

“How about making a complete _arse_ of myself at a gala?”

Tears of _relief_.

Shepard snorted softly, one hand drifting to Sam’s cheek, gently wiping at the moisture. “How about me saying I thought you didn’t have the right stuff to be on the _Normandy_? Who’s a complete ass now?”

Sam actually chuckled at that, though her throat still sounded tight from tears. “ _Thank you_.”

Samantha leaned further into Shepard. Shepard had to adjust herself slightly to give Sam room, Sam’s head finding a home on Shepard’s chest, rising with each breath.

"Do you mind if I ask what brought this on?" Shepard asked, trying to make the question sound casual. "Gotta know if my comm specialist is fit to continue the tour."

Sam smiled at the bit of ' _oorah Marine_ ' Shepard tried to slip in with the query. Then she sniffled loudly. "I wish it was something dramatic, Jane. I really do," Sam confessed. "It's just… hard not to feel _intimidated_ by all the posh elites clinging to your every word. Just tonight you made a thousand-year old matriarch _stammer_ when you introduced yourself. And then she spent the next _hour_ flirting with you like she's one of Aria's dancers. Sometimes…" Sam blushed a little, embarrassed by her own thoughts "… sometimes that _gets_ to me. It's _stupid_ and petty, I know, but I can't help but wondering… wondering… what do _I_ have that's-"

“-You proved me completely, utterly _wrong_ , Samantha Traynor,” Shepard said her fingers finding Sam’s hair and playing idly with it. Her voice was cool and crisp, cutting Sam off before she could backslide any further. “And that doesn’t happen often, _believe me_.” Sam said nothing, but her breaths were slow and regular, and she seemed to nuzzle closer.

“By the time the Reapers were invading, everyone _expected_ Liara to be on the front-lines. Because she’s a genius and a galaxy-class biotic and had been there from the beginning. Almost everyone I worked with in the War was one of the best in the galaxy at what they did. Maybe the best in history: the best soldiers, the best assassins, the best strategists.” Shepard ruffled Sam’s hair, eliciting a pouty frown. “What’s your excuse for not cracking under the pressure? For not running away?”

Samantha remained silent, aside from _humming_ pleasurably as Shepard’s hair-stroking resumed. “Maybe you’re not the bees knees. Maybe you just have normal knees,” Shepard said, agreeably. “But I don’t think you ever stopped to think about how _awesome_ that makes you.”

They remained in the bathroom for several long minutes, a comfortable quiet falling over them, disturbed only by the faint brushes of fingers through hair, the soft rustling of fabrics.

It was Traynor who broke the silence first. “I think that’s just about the most inspirational _negging_ that’s ever been delivered, Jane.” And Shepard grinned idiotically at the simple happiness in her words.

“Oh, so, you’re saying you’ll sleep with me, now?” Shepard teased, as Samantha propped herself upright. (The loss of body heat was a mutual tragedy.)

“Well, I _suppose_ I could adjust my standards to accommodate one Jane Shepard, Hero of the Universe,” Sam teased back.

Shepard stole a kiss, lips pressing against lips. “Come on, there’s a party downstairs, and I think I owe you a dance.” Shepard was already on her feet, yanking Traynor up with her. The (Ret.) Commander paused a moment later, her fingers around the doorknob. “If you’ll give me that honor of your hand?”

Shepard’s own hand was outstretched, like a gentleman of bygone nobility, but it was her smile that caught Sam’s eye. Thin and wry and utterly _ecstatic_.

“Flattery will get you _nowhere_ , Commander,” Traynor stated, reverting to a rank that Shepard still had every right to use.

Shepard’s hand found Samantha’s, bringing it to her lips for a chaste kiss. “I can offer a lot more than flattery,” she promised, stealing yet another kiss on their way over the threshold.

And for once, Samantha didn’t feel the faintest hint of selfishness when she decided to take Jane Shepard up on that.

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting something old, slightly polished. Yes, I stole the title from a quote from my usual fanfic bailiwick. Thoughts, comments and feedback are always appreciated.


End file.
